thinking doesn't need any capital letters
by spoonerdog123
Summary: you only use those when you're scrEAMING. (Minorshipping (Otogi x Ryou) for the YGO Fanfiction Contest S11 R3, rated for blood, horror, and disturbing scenes, oneshot)


**thinking doesn't need any capital letters**

**Length:** It's tricky to get an accurate word count due to some deliberate word–joinings, but it's around 3200 words.

**Ship: **Minorshipping (Ryou x Otogi)

**Warnings: **It's horror, but I might as well add that there's blood, and some semi–disturbing stuff; it's pretty much earned its rating.

**Handicap: Motormouth **– the whole thing has to be told in two sentences.

* * *

Dear diary, dear Amane, dear, deardeardear–

–_Otogi_, dear, dear, oh so dear and oh so damned, dear, dear Otogi, i am ever so sorry but please, let me stare at you for a bit, your gorgeous corpse is still fresh in my mind – it's been six days, so it's rotting in a grave somewhere now, but it's fresh and beautiful in my head – please let me think to write, write to think, write me think let _please_–

–dear Otogi–

–dear diary, some people say i'm crazy and stuff, but i don't think i am somehow; though i could be, 'cos that's the sort of thing crazy people say, isn't it – ah, no, don't answer that, i know you're just a paper diary, but i wouldn't really want you answering – diaries don't write back, that's why i picked you out; and now i'm going to write stuff in you, i'll sit on this bed and i'll write something, and today i'll write something, i'm sure i will, if i can just think of something to write, i'm sure it'll be great – but anyway, i really should try writing something substantial in you, something about what's happening right now; i'm sitting on a bed, a hospital bed, one arm cuffed and two legs chained and this one guy pointing a gun at my head, always pointing it at me like an accusing finger in a court, like i did something wrong; though he's quite nice about it because it's just his job to point at me – he says the whole gun–pointing thing's for protection and stuff,

but none of that is really writing, i guess; you're a book, so i suppose you'd want something exciting; just like what _he _wanted, when _he_ asked me to tell _him _everything, about the possessions and the Ring and so on – and i bet i could write pages and pages about what's happened to me, i reckon that you'd be really good for that sort of thing, because it's not like i can kill you halfway through or anything – but i can't really write about that now, it's all in the past, and i'm not allowed to remember those things, though HE still lets me think about _him _lying down, with those pretty green eyes all red and then redder, until the crimson pools over; what was_ his_ name again, i feel like i knew it a moment ago, _but–_

_(he was bleeding all over my pretty white floor; eyes, nose, mouth, all gone)_

–oh, never mind _his _name, _he _was so beautiful i didn't need it; such a sleek body, slicker with _blood–_

_(his body was an artwork, a savage splash of red on the pale flesh, matched his headband–)_

–it was just like a painting, a ruby–red canvas so very lovely, but it was on the _floor–_

_(nonononono paintings belong on walls, art like his body belonged on walls–)_

–so i used it to paint a pretty red picture on my lovely white cell wall, a smiley face, crosses for eyes–

_(nononono it wasn't me, it was HIS fault HIS fault HE possessed me and HE–)_

–HE was very nice about it, HE even made me a lovely sculpture to hang in my cell afterwards–

_(made a simple noose at the neck, not needed to kill, but so that when the blood ran down–)_

–it made more pictures–

–and god, i wish my life wasn't so _empty_, i'd have lots to write about if lots was there – it'd be great if it wasn't empty, but it _is_, it's so very empty without a flat to live in and food to cook and school to go to and sculptures to hang on my walls and red paint to play with and no shackles or gunmen, just him and him and me and this one girl and that other guy and _him_; i remember when we all talked for the first time since my wrongful imprisonment, the last time, it was so cool and everything – _he _stayed because he was suspicious of me, and it kind of hurt a bit because i'm totally innocent, i didn't do anything wrong, HE did it, whatever it was, and you believe me (don't you, little diary, you and your perfectly blank white pages?), i'm sure you do – oh yes, the guy with the gun over there will never know what i'm writing, because i'm gonna seal my thoughts into you, just like HE did when HE made all my little figurines come to life so i could play more realistic games, it'll be our little secret, i'll think down everything about _him _so i won't ever forget about how pretty _he _was, it was such a shame that he had to know andandandandandwhatandsomethingidon'tknowshootmema ybeandandand, and,

and,

and, and, and who's _he_, yes, i suppose i could always write that down, it's nothing that my guard won't know already, i guess it'd be quite safe to write that down; actually, i write to my guard all the time and he's a great listener, never talks back or anything like that – sometimes i wish he'd talk to me, it'd be nice if he did, but he told me once that if he talks to me, he might accidentally reveal his name, and then i might be able to hypnotize him or something – hey, don't look at me like that with your blank pages so accusing, i'll write something in you in just a minute – anyway, so if i could learn his name and hypnotize him (which i can't, i'm innocent), then i might be able to make him shoot himself; and it's so annoying that he'd be thinking that, i keep telling them to shoot me just in case i can hypnotize them, but of _course _they'd rather kill themselves, i'm just so special that it'd break their hearts or something–

–ah no, can't think about that, i'm meant to be thinking about _him_, bad Ryou bad Ryou bad bad bad _Bakura _no not HIM bad _Ryou _bad me i'm a bad Ryou very bad; mustn't think about hypnotizing, that's not even possible – _yes it is _– oh, shut up, it's your fault i'm here _oh no, its yours _shut up you _my name is bakurait'sryoubakura iamyouyouareme _notmeyou'reHIM _noiamyou _ahaheheheHEHEH "Are you all right, Patient Six–Six–Six"_shut UP_ p–p–pLEASE SToP I'M "Are you all rig–"scrEAMING "Holy sh–"

–oh dear, i (HE did it, not me please no) made the guard shoot himself in the face with my silky little voice that made the room get all dark for a minute there, and the mess appears to be all over your pretty ivory pages now – oh dear oh dear oh _dear, _i think i can see a little piece of him on you, little diary, how very disgusting – no, before you ask, i'm not a total hypocrite; of course _he _was a work of art, but that doesn't mean that blood automatically makes anything a work of art, the stuff's like paint in that it's not really art unless you're using it correctly – and of course, the guard didn't die anywhere as nicely as _he _did, _he _was like the best death of anyone HE's killed; maybe i (HE) should kill more people, ahaheheheheheheeee–

–eeeeah, ah ah _ahhhh _wait a moment, you don't know anything about _him_, i never did get to explain it – i suppose i might as well think _him _into your pages before the men come and take me away from you; they won't take you as well, i don't think you'd like where i'm going very much – i'll hide you under a floorboard or something, so when HE breaks me out i can come and retrieve you (well – there aren't any floorboards, but i'll hide you under the concrete, i'll find a way!), and then i'll remember everything that happened with me and _him_; okay, okay, you're ready and i'm ready, so i might as well start by saying that everything about _him_ was really pretty, even before _he _died and stuff; the girls liked_ him_ and the guys liked _him_ – but i kind of liked _him_ as in _liked _as in _loved, he _was a super loner and yet somehow cool (not like me, i'm just a loner), but _he_ was a super loner, so i guess we had a sort of common ground there–

–but do you know what (no, not 'Watt', _what_, i know you're no phone directory), when him and him and me and this one girl and that other guy and _him _got together for the first time after my (HIS) arrest, _he _was so freaking suspicious of me; i've never seen anything like it – i know he was always suspicious, and sometimes he was as well (but that other guy never was, and neither was this one girl, not ever – ah, if only i could remember all their names!) – but i had never thought someone who was just like me would ever be suspicious of me and my amazingly good intentions; though then again, i guess maybe it was because_ he_ knew me so well that_ he_ guessed, _he _was so much cleverer than me, maybe _he _was too clever (and that was _his_ problem?) – anyway, so _he _was suspicious, always second–guessing and looking at me funny (the others had probably told him about my situation beforehand) – and i didn't like it, i _really _didn't like it, so i–

–took his life away; made such pretty picture with it, shades of red forming such a lovely image–

_(wasn't my fault though, it was HIS–)_

– ah no, no, the death was later, much later, i mustn't get ahead of myself, because diaries should be in order, even thought –diaries; so at that point, _he_ was watching me as i sat in my cell like a Good Ryou with only one shackle instead of three like i have now (because i'm a Bad Ryou), watching me through the bars as i told _him _and the rest what medications the doctors had given me, how silly they were, why i wasn't going to take them – the police had no evidence that i was mad or crazy, that i'd done anything wrong, let alone put all those poor people in nasty comas back at the hospital; they had no evidence to suggest that i _actually _had – and that was because i hadn't, and it wasn't my fault, it was HIS fault, not me, HIM – i wasn't guilty then, still not guilty now, not guilty, _not guilty,_

but _he _stayed in my dingy little jail with me –

– ah, no, it can't have been because _he _liked me or anything–

– so it must have been because _he _was suspicious, wanted to ask too many questions in the wrong direction, wanted to figure out what was wrong with me when even i didn't know – though i think really, it was because _he _was greedy, wanted my Ring, so it was okay to kill _him_; besides, if _he_ got my Ring, HE would surely take _his _life and make it hell – so i guess i was doing _him _a favour of sorts when i killed _him_; well, not quite killed, but i showed _him _HIM, knowing what would happen – i mean, it was _his _own silly fault for wanting more than what he already had, such a pity that _he_ had to be such a narcissist, i figured that _he'd_ have been smarter than to have accepted my little advances – Otogi, Duke, whatever it is you're called, i thought you were smart and you'd play a while with me, but as it turned out, you never did expect it, blinded as you were by your stupid hormones – ah, ah, your name, what was your name–

– oh, never mind it; there's no real name for you, _him_, whatever – there's no name pretty enough to give you and your velvety voice, that was even prettier when you were screaming, screaming, scREAMING liKeTHIs, with your voice going up and down from howl to whisper like a seesaw, which is a great metaphor because you were my (HIS) playground, I (HE) leaped atop you and had my fun, and i'll never forget your last pretty words, falling off your tongue right before your tongue kind of fell out of your mouth, i cut it out so i (HE) could have a brush to paint my pictures with:

_"You don't have the–"_

eh what no i meant the love confession

_"don't have the–"_

ah no no no please

let me forget

though i can't remember

_"Ring–"_

no, of course i didn't have it wait what

_"You don't have the Ring–"_

that's right, i don't have the Ring, diary dearest with pages bloodied; I haven't had it for years, and certainly didn't have my Item when _he_ died, so it can't have been HIM oh god wait what what's happening to me did i no of course i didn't do it not me – HIM – Him as in him as in me–him, him, _him_, but who is he and him and me and _him _and HIM and what i hELP pleASE sOMEoNe–

_"–it's your fault, Ryou Bakura; you killed me_

_and now you must face me–_

**_look._**_"_

_._

AiiiiiiieeEEEEEEEEEeeeyyy…

…yyyyehehehaaahheheheheeeehAHAHAHA – Diarydiarydiary_otogi_diary, so i suppose i did do it after all, aheheheh, i did it, i did it, i really did it and i'm gone now, gone, not a Good Ryou or a Bad Ryou but a Very Bad Ryou; so my soul's damned, just like _he's _saying over there, telling me that the one thing i've ever done with my life has ended it – aaaaheeeeheeeheeeeeut ut ut, but no, i don't regret it in the least, deardeardeardeeeeearOtogiiii– i don't regret doing it, because _his_ death was so beautiful it was so very much worth it, so very much worth it – it was real _art, _and _he_ was such a lovely example of pain–

–t–

_look at me, dammit_

_lOOk uPon YOUr dEATH_

–oh oh oh, i need to go now, but before i do diary, diary, diiiiiaaaaaarrrrry, i want to tell you so much, but i have so little time – i'll finish by saying that i kind of wish you could have seen that moment of creation too, but you will have to make to with the final result; I will hold you up now and let you see _him_, because _he's _so beautiful, so pretty, but please, please promise you'll protect me from _it which has_

_the shape of a certain raven–haired teenager, hair in a neat ponytail behind the headband – but burn marks from a rope circle its neck, and it has no eyes no mouth no nose, just bloody holes and bared teeth (because its lips are gone), molars flashing bone–white in a macabre, permanent grin; it is always smiling for some reason – maybe because Otogi saw its own death coming in his Pegasus–like wisdom; or maybe it didn't, and now laughs at itself and his idiocy – it is impossible to tell, its eyes used to be so telling, but they cannot tell you anything when they are gone from its face,_

_and its form is so obviously lifeless, yet somehow living a second life in Ryou's blurred vision, appearing as calm and collected and transparent (albeit in both meanings of the term) as Otogi ever was – even its laugh, though a little manic, remains somehow polite, formalized – a good thing in Ryou's mind, because the phantom laughs a great deal as it advances, spitting accusations left, right, and center, proving itself to be utterly unafraid of its creator, although he is afraid of it; in all of two seconds, he has become a quivering ball of fluffy white bangs and terrified brown eyes, looking every bit as pathetically innocent as he did before–_

_before–_

_(his Ring was taken from him and buried under sand and rock, never to return or help him, declared evil,)_

_before–_

_(little Ryou Bakura went insane from loss and from grief, paranoid because he couldn't defend,)_

_before–_

_(comas and accusations from a past life caught up, 'I was possessed' not a valid excuse in a court,)_

_before–_

_(the mental ward of the prison, his torture, breakdown, coming to believe he was the killer,)_

_before–_

_(Otogi got too close, hit on him, showed far too much interest, but he was just trying to hel–)_

_oh yes, the cowering Ryou Bakura looks just like_

_before–_

_before it all went wrong–_

_–before the phantom laughs quietly, because such thinking is foolish; Ryou is not innocent as he once was, the haunted boy's guilt is written all over his stupid features when he looks up at the ghost with terrified eyes, bites his lip until it begins to bleed, pleads for his pathetic life – but Otogi has no mercy, much like it has no eyes, no mouth, no nose; and though it has ears, it is ultimately deaf to the boy's pleas–_

–_please_ don't let _it_ anywhere near me, diary dearest, please don't – ahhhh, dear, dear, _dear _Otogi, please, come no closer, right here is the perfect viewing angle for your lovely features, my art piece, my lifetime's wor–

–nonononONO, don't take me away in that cold embrace of yours, even if you're meant to, please don't – you're too close now, much too close, i can't make out all the details of my art anymore, my precious art, you're killing me so please stop, please – i, i, i – oh no, this isn't good, you can't kiss with no lips, plEASe stOP–

_–Otogi couldn't care less; it simply allows its creator to back itself into a corner, so that it may finish what it meant to start; the kiss it had been promised, the kiss that lured the raven–haired teen to his first death – and now that he has it, Otogi may die the second death, move on–_

_._

death's kiss leaves

nothing

but a red smear

of paint, perhaps

crimson on the wall

and an empty

bloody

**book.**

.

**END**


End file.
